


Becoming Strangers

by Riona



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Amnesia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-10 08:43:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13498544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riona/pseuds/Riona
Summary: When Ignis wakes up, none of his friends remember who he is.





	Becoming Strangers

Ignis wakes with Gladio’s sword at his throat. This isn’t unprecedented, perhaps, but it is unusual.

“Starting training early today?” Ignis asks.

“Who are you?” Gladio demands.

Hmm. Perhaps he’s not processing clearly; he’s only just woken, after all. “I’m not sure I understand the question.”

“They don’t get much simpler,” Gladio says. “Who are you, and what are you doing in our tent?”

“Sleeping, until a moment ago,” Ignis says. “Is something wrong?” He looks to the side, as well as he’s able without opening his throat on Gladio’s blade. Noctis is asleep; he appears to be safe.

“You trying to test my patience?” Gladio demands. “I’ll save you the trouble: I don’t have any.”

Prompto appears behind Gladio, hovering a little awkwardly. “Hey, c’mon, maybe he just needed somewhere to sleep.”

“And he _coincidentally_ happened to pick our tent?” Gladio asks, not taking his eyes off Ignis.

“I don’t know,” Prompto says. “If he wanted to hurt Noct, pretty sure there are better plans than ‘get in the tent and go to sleep’.”

Gladio pauses.

“Okay,” he says, dismissing his sword. “You get out of here and don’t come back, maybe we’ll forget this happened.”

“I don’t understand,” Ignis says.

“Maybe he’s from somewhere else?” Prompto asks. “Noct’s had language lessons, right?”

“As if he’d ever pay attention to them,” Gladio says. “This guy was talking fine earlier. And I’m gonna guess he speaks _getting thrown out of the tent_.” He grabs Ignis’s shoulder, roughly.

“If this is a joke,” Ignis says, “it’s gone on far too long.”

And in the next instant he’s shoved unceremoniously out of the tent entrance. He hasn’t had a chance to put his gloves on; the stone of the haven is rough under his hands. He’s seen Gladio act like this before, with potential security threats, but he’s never known this treatment himself.

“You’ve got about sixty seconds to get out of my sight,” Gladio says, looming over him.

“Gladio—”

Gladio’s sword is back in his hand in an instant. “So you know my name. Still gonna pretend you didn’t know whose tent this is?”

“I never tried to claim anything of the sort,” Ignis says, getting to his feet. He is feeling, justifiably, slightly testy. “Do you still intend to pretend you don’t recognise me?”

“I don’t have a clue who you are,” Gladio says. “Honestly? I don’t care. Whoever you’re supposed to be, you’re gonna have to be it somewhere else.”

Prompto appears in the entrance to the tent, fidgeting with his hands. He looks anxious, but no more so than Ignis would expect upon Gladio evicting an actual intruder. Perhaps it’s vanity, but Ignis would like to imagine Prompto would have a _slightly_ stronger reaction to Gladio sending away an established travelling companion and, if he might go so far, friend.

“Prompto?” Ignis asks, without much hope. “Surely you remember who I am.”

Prompto looks alarmed. “Uh, were we at school together or something?”

Ignis closes his eyes and takes a breath, trying to calm himself. There must be an explanation; there must be a solution.

“May I speak to Noct?” he asks, opening his eyes.

“Yeah, nice try,” Gladio says.

-

Ignis forbids himself from panicking. As it’s light enough to keep the daemons at bay, he retreats to wait by the Regalia. When Noctis has woken, the three of them will come here. Noctis will remember him, surely. Surely their long history isn’t something that can be erased so easily.

The landscape of Leide slowly brightens, and eventually, with a jolt of the heart, he sees a figure running towards him. Only the one, and he recognises the gait instantly as Prompto’s. Is it too much to hope that he’s remembered, or at least that Noctis has sent him to bring Ignis back to the tent?

Prompto seems to falter on seeing someone by the car, and then speeds up.

“Prompto,” Ignis greets him, when Prompto comes to a halt... not alongside him, exactly; he seems to be keeping his distance.

“Hey,” Prompto says, uncertainly. “You know Gladio’s gonna actually murder you if he finds you here, right?”

Ignis sighs. “Yes, I suppose he is.”

Prompto cranes his neck; he seems to be trying to look into the car, but it’s evidently not easy for him when he’s also trying not to get too close to Ignis.

“What are you looking for?” Ignis asks.

Prompto pulls a face. “No one has the car keys. I thought maybe Noct left them in here.” He turns to look across the desert, squinting in the morning light. “Guess not. Ugh. What are we gonna do?”

Ignis discreetly checks his pocket. The keys to the Regalia are in there, as usual.

What is he to do in this situation? He could try to use his possession of the keys to prove his identity, but it seems more likely he’d just be accused of theft. He could use the keys as a bargaining chip, refuse to hand them over unless he’s allowed to speak to Noctis, but it strikes him that, in the event that Noctis doesn’t remember him either, he’ll have made an extremely poor impression.

“As it happens, I was waiting here for a reason.” He takes the keys out of his pocket. “I saw the keys in the car. I was hoping to return them to the owner.”

“Oh, whoa, thanks!” Prompto takes the keys from him. “Seriously, thanks. A lot of people wouldn’t be that honest.”

Ignis can only give him a smile in response. It feels a little strained.

“Sorry Gladio was so hard on you, by the way.” Prompto tucks the keys into his pocket. Something deep in Ignis is horrified to see him in possession of the Regalia’s keys, but with any luck he won’t actually be planning to _drive_ her. “But, uh, why _were_ you in our tent?”

“I apologise,” Ignis says. “I was nearby when the daemons emerged; it was the closest haven. I suppose I couldn’t resist the prospect of a roof over my head. I should have asked permission.”

Prompto looks relieved. “See, I knew it had to be something like that. I’ll tell Gladio it was a misunderstanding.” He hesitates. “But, uh, you probably still shouldn’t be around when he gets here.”

Perhaps not, but he’ll have to take the risk. He needs to speak to Noctis, and...

But Noctis must be awake if they’ve noticed the missing car keys, surely? Has he noticed no other absence?

“Anyway, thanks again!” Prompto says with a wave, turning back in the tent’s direction. “Seeya!”

“Wait,” Ignis says.

Prompto looks back at him.

“Is His Highness awake?” Ignis asks.

“Gladio’s really not gonna let you talk to him, you know.”

“Has he asked about me?”

“What, Noct?” Prompto asks, frowning slightly. “He slept through the whole thing. I don’t think he knows anything happened.”

“Does he seem... distressed, at all? Or confused?”

“Well, I mean, he’s kind of upset about the car keys,” Prompto says. “I should really get them back to him. And I guess you’ve probably got places to be as well.”

Ignis swallows, with some difficulty. So Noctis doesn’t remember him either.

Places to be? What place is there for him, if he can’t be at Noct’s side?

-

Ignis conceals himself on an outcropping of rock, but he stays within sight of the Regalia. Surely they won’t _actually_ leave without him; surely this is the moment it’s revealed that the entire business has been a cruel joke.

But, within half an hour, Prompto, Gladio and Noctis (something within Ignis clenches at the sight of him) have piled into the car and driven off, without apparent hesitation.

This is real. The wind is strong, the sun is stronger, and he’s just watched everything he truly cares about vanish into a distant haze of sand. He can _feel_ these things. This is real.

For a while he can only stare down the road, trying to think through the building pressure in his head. What can he do now? Where can he go?

Takka, Cindy and Cid are at Hammerhead. There are acquaintances within a feasible distance, even if his friends have been abruptly cut off from him. (Is any distance _un_ feasible? He’s limited only by money, it seems; robbed of Noctis, robbed of his purpose, there are no restrictions on his time.)

A part of him is afraid that they won’t remember him either. He can’t fathom what’s happened to him. Perhaps he’s somehow found himself in a world where he never existed. Perhaps his _own_ memories are false. (It’s a terrible thought, that the times he remembers with Noctis might never have happened at all.) But he needs a destination, he needs to move, or he’ll have nothing to do but think.

The Regalia isn’t open to him, evidently, so he finds the nearest chocobo rental point. There are three birds available: a sprinter, a long-distance runner, and one, the smallest, who’s apparently neither of those.

“She’s not as fast as some,” admits the woman in charge, “and she’ll run out of puff if you don’t rest her every so often, but she’s the friendliest bird you’ve ever met. Are you looking for transport or a pet?”

“I’ll take the one that can cover distances.” He’s looking for transport; it’s the only sensible choice.

“No problem. Come into the paddock and I can introduce you.”

The moment he steps into the paddock, though, the smallest one runs up, nudges him with her beak, pushes her head with great determination against his hand until he gives in and starts to stroke her feathers. He catches himself smiling a little, for what feels like the first time today.

He takes the friendly one, in the end. He’s not especially proud of it, but he feels that, more urgently than transport, he might need a living creature that seems to be happy to see him.

They will remember him, he tells himself. They will call him.

The sun begins to set when he’s halfway to Hammerhead, and no call has come. He finds a haven and pillows his jacket under his head and sleeps in the open, on the bare rock.

-

Ignis wakes with his joints stiff and his mind in turmoil and his chocobo attempting to eat his hair, which does at least do some small amount to distract him from his self-pity. It’s not yet light enough to make a move, but he doesn’t imagine he’ll be getting any more sleep before sunrise.

He stays where he is, lying on his back, staring up at the stars.

Ignis has always thought of himself as a capable, independent adult. Perhaps it’s an easy image to hold of himself, given the company he keeps. He’s always thought himself perfectly capable of managing alone.

It’s only now, in the unprecedented absence of Noctis, that he realises he’s never truly been alone before.

He can survive, certainly, on a practical level. He can find water and prepare food and fight off sabretusks and do all the things that are fundamentally required to keep his heart beating. But he has no direction, no idea of what to do with the existence he’s so diligently preserving. He’s aiming for Hammerhead, yes, but what then? Even if they remember him, they’re two mechanics and a restaurateur he happens to do business with occasionally; they’re not a replacement for the life he’s lost. The path that’s been laid out for him since childhood has suddenly been whisked away, and now he finds himself adrift in an ocean of...

Some might call it ‘possibility’, he supposes. Not that that makes him feel any less likely to drown in it.

He’ll need to find work. Not that he has the faintest idea of how one actually looks for work; it’s not exactly something he ever particularly thought he’d need to concern himself with. He could take in bounties, but fighting strong marks alone seems unwise, and he can’t put himself in too much danger; what if Noctis remembers him, what if Noctis needs him?

(What if Noctis needs him in this instant, and Ignis is lying here uselessly while he falls to the Empire’s bullets?)

Perhaps Takka could do with some help in the diner.

-

The question of Noctis’s safety looms ever larger in Ignis’s mind as he rides towards Hammerhead. Eventually he reins his chocobo up, rests his forehead for a moment against her feathery neck, trying to ground himself. Noctis is in Gladio’s company, he tells himself, and he’s a more than capable fighter on his own.

And yet.

He should call, just to be sure. But he’s not sure he can bear confirmation that Noctis doesn’t remember him either, even though it’s essentially been confirmed already. They drove away and left him.

In the end, he dials Noctis’s number. His hands aren’t shaking, but somehow it feels as if they should be.

Noctis tries to avoid answering calls from unknown numbers when he can, and Ignis can only assume that his own number qualifies as ‘unknown’. But Noctis typically tries to avoid answering them by passing his phone to Ignis, which presumably won’t be an option here. Ignis isn’t sure what to expect. Will Prompto be the one to answer?

The line is picked up. “Hey. Uh, Ignis?”

Ignis can’t breathe.

“Noct?” he asks. “Are you well? Are you safe?”

There’s a pause. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“I apologise,” Ignis says. “I should never have left your side. Gladio—”

“Sorry, who is this?”

No. No, this isn’t possible. “You knew my name. You called me Ignis.”

“Yeah, that’s the name that came up on my phone,” Noctis says. “Sorry. I’m not great with names.”

Ignis tries to speak. The words seem just out of his reach, somehow.

“You still there?” Noctis asks.

“I’m sorry to have troubled you,” Ignis says, and he hangs up.

-

His chocobo needs a rest, and Ignis needs time to collect himself, so they stay for some time in the shelter of some enormous creature’s ribcage. It takes some time for the implications of that call to truly sink in, but they eventually hit Ignis while his chocobo is happily eating greens from his palm.

His name came up on Noctis’s phone. His name is still in Noctis’s address book.

And that means he can be sure of his own existence. His friends have somehow forgotten him, but he has evidence that his memories are real.

-

Ignis’s phone starts buzzing a couple of hours later, and he almost drops it in his haste to answer it. He takes a moment to glance at the name. Prompto?

“Hey,” Prompto says breathlessly into his ear. “Hey, is this the glasses guy?”

He hasn’t been remembered, evidently.

“I suppose you could say that,” he says. “You could call me Ignis, if you prefer.”

“Ignis. Yeah. That’s what’s in my phone. Why does my phone know who you are?”

“How did you know to call that number, if you were looking for ‘the glasses guy’?”

“Okay,” Prompto says. “This is really weird, and it’s freaking me out, but I’ve got, like, a billion photos of you.”

Ignis grips the phone tighter. Of course; he should have realised. If he still exists in their phone address books, he still exists in Prompto’s camera.

“I mean—” Prompto suddenly sounds alarmed. “I mean, it’s not like I’ve been following you around or hiding in the bushes or—”

“Don’t worry,” Ignis interrupts him. “I know what you mean. They’re photographs of us, aren’t they? As if we know each other.”

“Yeah! Me and my friends, and then you’re just there, and I don’t _remember_ you being there, it’s _seriously_ weird. So I asked Noct about it, and he said he’d got a weird call from someone called Ignis who was just talking like he knew us, and this guy was already in his phone, so I checked _my_ phone, and—”

“And now you’re talking to me,” Ignis says.

“Yeah,” Prompto says. “Please tell me you can explain this. You’re not, like, a ghost or anything, right?”

“Well, I certainly hope not.”

“No, dude, don’t do this to me. Just say you’re not.”

Ignis suppresses a chuckle. “I’m alive, as far as I know.”

“So, what, are you just the world’s stealthiest photobomber?”

This seems to be the time to set out exactly what’s happened, or what little he understands of it.

“As far as I remember, I’ve been your travelling companion,” Ignis says. “Since we left Insomnia, although our acquaintance goes back further than that. His Highness and I have known each other for... a very long time. But yesterday I woke, and it seemed that none of you could remember me.”

“Uh,” Prompto says. “How is that possible? Like, I don’t remember you _at all_.”

“I’d dearly love to know.”

“I mean, I remember you yesterday, I guess. In the – wait, you’re saying you were just in the tent because – did we all go to sleep in there together?”

“We did,” Ignis says. “As we did every night. My presence never caused problems before. We were friends, I hope.”

“So... you’re saying it’s not just three of us?” Prompto asks. “It’s meant to be me, Noct, Gladio and you?”

“As I remember it, yes.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m seeing in these photos.” There’s a pause; perhaps he’s looking through them. “And we all just... forgot?”

“So it seems. I thought I would be accompanying you to Altissia. To be honest, I’ve rather found myself at a loss for what to do.”

There’s a long silence.

“Dude,” Prompto says. “That sounds really rough.”

“It’s been a little trying,” Ignis allows.

“Has _everyone_ forgotten you? Or was it just us?”

_Everyone who matters,_ Ignis could say.

“I’m not yet certain,” he says. “I was beginning to doubt my own memories. But I suppose I must have known you, if you have these photographs.”

“Yeah, guess so. Hey, do you know how to cook?”

The sudden shift in topic throws him. “I like to think so.”

Prompto laughs down the phone. “Okay, that explains a lot. We’ve got all this super-intimidating cooking equipment and no one knows how to use it. I couldn’t figure out how we hadn’t starved yet.”

“No doubt you’ll be living on Cup Noodles in my absence,” Ignis says, mildly. “I’m sure Gladio will be pleased.”

In truth, he’s hoping to be invited back in the role of chef. Perhaps Prompto picks up on that, because there’s a sudden, uncomfortable silence.

“I’m sorry,” Prompto says at last. “I get that this really... _really_ sucks for you, and – yeah, I guess we must have been friends, but, uh, I don’t know if I have the authority to...”

“It’s all right,” Ignis interrupts him. _Must have been friends_. The tense makes it difficult to swallow.

More silence.

“Seriously,” Prompto says, “I don’t know what I’d do if that happened to me. I’d be... I’d just be a mess.”

Ignis closes his eyes for a moment, trying to focus on the slight pressure of the phone against the rim of his ear, against the arm of his glasses.

“His Highness knew my name when I called.” He’s lost the right to call him _Noct_. “I thought for a moment he had remembered me. Realising that he hadn’t... well, it certainly wasn’t easy.”

To his surprise (and slight affront), Prompto laughs. “Yeah, it’s not great. Caring so much about someone who has no idea who you are.”

Ignis draws breath. It will hurt, no doubt, to meet a Noctis who doesn’t remember him, but he has to ask. “Do you think I might meet him?”

“What, Noct?” Prompto falls quiet for a moment. “Well, I mean, only if he’s okay with it.”

“Would you ask him?”

“Yeah,” Prompto says. “Yeah, okay. I’ll tell him to call you.”

-

Ignis reaches Hammerhead as dusk is falling. He intends to rent the caravan and wash before anyone but the rental woman sees him – he’s very conscious that he hasn’t bathed in two days, a situation he prefers to avoid even when he hasn’t been riding a chocobo in hot weather – but Cindy spots him as he dismounts on the forecourt. She waves and jogs over to greet him.

“That’s a fine chocobo you’re riding,” she says, “but I can’t fill her up with gas. Don’t tell me His Highness has wrecked the Regalia again.”

Ignis stares at her.

She shakes her head and sighs. “All right, hit me. How bad is it?”

“You know me?”

Cindy raises her eyebrows. “I’m not just staring at the prince when you come by here, y’know.”

There’s a great deal of emotion rising in Ignis’s throat, and he isn’t entirely sure of what to do with it. He has never been given to tears, and embracing her seems unthinkably forward when she doesn’t know the reason. But it means a lot, more than he might have expected, that someone knows him.

“Is there somewhere she can stay?” he asks, gesturing at the chocobo. His voice sounds a little strange, despite his best efforts.

Cindy looks him over, frowning slightly. “Yeah, we can take her for the night. Your boys are okay, ain’t they?”

If they were ever ‘his boys’, they don’t seem to be now. “They’re fine, as far as I know. We’re just spending a little time apart.”

-

He has breakfast at the diner’s counter, in conversation with Takka. It’s pleasant, or as close to pleasant as anything has been since his life abruptly fell to pieces. But, like Cindy, Takka asks after the others, and Ignis has to conceal how the question rips through him.

Why do the people here still remember? Why has he only been forgotten by the people who are most important to him?

His phone vibrates when he’s finished eating, and he answers it at once, mid-conversation, without even taking a moment to apologise to Takka. Courtesy can wait.

“Hey,” Noctis says. “Uh. Ignis, right? Prompto said you wanted to talk to me.”

-

It’s a strike to the chest to see the Regalia pull into Hammerhead, and a harder strike to see the three of them climb out of it. Noctis looks around, catches Ignis’s eye, stares at him for a moment. (Ignis supposes he’s staring in return.) Looks over at Prompto. Prompto nods.

Noctis heads towards Ignis, a little hesitantly.

Gladio charges past him and gets there first.

“Look,” Gladio says. “I don’t know what your deal is, but I’m gonna be watching you. You’re not trying anything weird.”

At least he’s not holding his sword. An improvement on their last encounter.

“Has Prompto shown you his photographs?” Ignis asks.

“Yeah.” He shrugs. As shrugs go, it’s on the more intimidating end of the scale, particularly as he’s so close. “So either all three of us forgot you, or you messed with the camera somehow. If I had my way, we wouldn’t be here.”

Ignis can’t say he enjoys the suspicion, but he’d expect nothing less. In Gladio’s position, he’d have reservations himself. Noctis and Prompto have reached them, but they’re holding back a little, watching the conflict.

“My word’s only worth so much from your perspective, I realise,” Ignis says, “but I assure you I won’t do His Highness any harm.”

“You won’t,” Gladio promises.

“Boys!” They look around sharply; Cindy is striding towards them. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s good to see y’all, but if you’re planning to fight you do it where the customers can’t see you.”

“You know this guy?” Gladio asks. “Any chance you know if he’s a con artist?”

“Could be, for all I know,” Cindy says. It’s a little wounding in its flippancy, although Ignis tries not to take it to heart; she doesn’t know what’s at stake. “You boys know him better than I do. What’s happened between y’all? Thought you were buddies.”

“Did he tell you that?” Gladio demands.

“Wait!” Prompto says. He’s been pressing buttons on his camera, and now he shows Gladio a photograph; Ignis catches sight of it as well. It’s one of the first from their journey, the four of them gathered around the newly repaired Regalia.

“We talked about this,” Gladio says. “Three memories, one camera. Which one do you think is lying?”

Prompto shows the picture to Cindy as well. “You took this, right?”

Cindy takes the camera to get a better look (Prompto, Ignis notes, becomes considerably more fidgety as soon as the camera is out of his hands). “Yep, pretty sure that was me.”

“Was he there?” Prompto asks, gesturing at Ignis.

Cindy starts to laugh. “What d’you mean, ‘was he there’? He’s in the photo, ain’t he?”

“You remember him, I mean,” Prompto says. He’s starting to go a little pink. “Being there. When you took the picture. Like—”

“Were we all there?” Noctis asks, cutting him off. “All four of us?”

Cindy looks at the photo again, and then looks around at the four of them. Her smile is looking increasingly perplexed. “Is this some kind of test? We fixed up your girl, you stood around her, I took this photo. Then His Highness ran her into a barrier right out the gate, and this one” – she jerks her head towards Ignis – “took over.”

Noctis glances away for an instant, evidently embarrassed, and then looks sharply back at her.

For a moment, there’s silence.

“Wait here,” Gladio orders Ignis. He walks away in the direction of the diner, gesturing for Noctis to follow him. Noctis does, although he glances back at Ignis a couple of times; Ignis would like to think he’s reluctant to leave. Prompto lingers just long enough to retrieve his camera from a very confused Cindy, and then he jogs after them.

“What was _that_ about?” Cindy asks.

“It’s a little hard to explain,” Ignis says. It’s impolite when speaking to someone else, he knows, but he’s watching the three of them, making sure they don’t stray too far. They don’t; they stop by the caravan, and Gladio leans against the side, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “But thank you. I think you may have done me a great favour.”

Cindy shrugs. “Well, not sure what I’ve done, but I’m always happy to help. Hope you sort out whatever this is between y’all.”

“Thank you,” Ignis says, again. “So do I.”

Cindy departs to look after other customers, and eventually Gladio finishes his phone call and walks towards Ignis, Noctis and Prompto in tow. He seems a little less threatening than before. Perhaps it’s wishful thinking.

“Iris remembers you,” Gladio says. “She’s my sister.”

Ignis feels a small tug at the corner of his mouth. “I know.”

“Right, guess you would.” Gladio scratches the back of his neck. “Looks like I might owe you an apology.”

“None needed,” Ignis says. “Noctis’s safety is as important to me as it is to you. I understand your caution.”

“So why do we know each other?” Noctis asks, pushing past Gladio. Something about hearing his voice wrenches at Ignis. It feels like they’ve been separated for far longer than a couple of days. In a sense, they’re still separated now. “How did we meet?”

“You were a child.” Perhaps _we were children_ would be more apt, but Ignis feels in some way his own childhood ended that day, with the realisation that there was someone he needed to protect. “Your father charged me with advising you and ensuring your safety.”

“Oh,” Noctis says. “So I’m... your job?”

“It depends on how you look at it, I suppose,” Ignis says. “I’m no longer paid. I’ve been at your side as long as I can remember, and I’d like nothing more than to continue in that role. Perhaps it would be more accurate to call you my purpose.”

He says it calmly, as nothing more or less than a fact. But Noctis takes a small step back. Prompto, behind him, drops into a minor coughing fit.

“You’re... kind of intense, you know,” Noctis says, after a moment.

That gives Ignis pause. “I’m not sure I’ve heard that before.”

“What do people normally call you?”

“Cautious, perhaps,” Ignis says. “I’ve been described as cold on occasion. More often behind my back than to my face, I suspect.”

“You called me your _purpose_.”

“Well,” Ignis says, “calling you my life might have seemed a little much.”

He says it with a smile, to be clear that it’s a joke, and fortunately Noctis seems to take it as such, laughing and relaxing a little. It’s a polite laugh, though, without real fellowship behind it. Every one of Noctis’s mannerisms breaks Ignis’s heart, just a little; every one of them tells Ignis that he’s now an outsider. There’s a distance in Noctis’s voice, in his gaze, in his body language. It isn’t hostile, but perhaps hostility would be easier to bear than this wary courtesy.

There’s a little more truth in his joke than Ignis would like to admit.

Noctis does seem curious about him, at least. Perhaps that’s the most Ignis can hope for, now that their history together has apparently been scrubbed out.

“So you want to come with us,” Gladio says. It isn’t scornful, exactly, but Ignis certainly can’t say it’s enthusiastic.

“Can you blame the guy?” Prompto asks. “I mean, what if me and Noct forgot you and left you behind?”

“I wouldn’t let you,” Gladio says. “You’d get yourselves killed.”

“Hey, we survived fine when you left us alone and ran off with Cor,” Noctis says.

Gladio opens his mouth, and closes it again, and frowns.

Prompto nudges his shoulder. “What, you’re gonna pretend you forgot that too?”

“I remember,” Gladio says. “Just – why would I leave the two of you alone? What the hell was I thinking?”

“As it happens,” Ignis says, “they weren’t alone.”

Gladio gives him a searching look. “Okay,” he says at last. “If you’re someone I trusted to look after these idiots, _maybe_ we can make this work.”

“Hey,” Noctis says.

“Still,” Gladio says. “Big decision. Noct, what do you think?”

Noctis looks at Ignis, frowning. There’s something strangely intense behind it, despite the new distance between them. Perhaps Ignis has become invisible, in a sense, through long years of acquaintance. Perhaps, now that he’s become a stranger, Noctis is truly _looking_ at him for the first time, rather than seeing him as part of the background.

“It might be kind of awkward,” Prompto says, dropping his voice as if that will somehow prevent Ignis from hearing him. “’Cause we all know each other, and this guy’s... kind of new. But... I guess maybe we’d get to know each other pretty quickly.” He looks down at his camera. “And, y’know, if we liked him before, we can like him again, right?”

“I certainly hope so,” Ignis says.

“Plus you can cook,” Prompto says, quickly, as if he feels so bad for his hesitation that he’s compelled to offer more arguments in favour.

“Doesn’t have to swing it,” Gladio says. “There’s no reason we can’t have Cup Noodles every night.”

“Okay, yeah, I think he might have to come with us,” Noctis says.

Gladio shrugs. “It’s your call.”

“I think Noct’s right,” Prompto says. “It kind of feels like I’ve known you for a while, even if I don’t remember. Right, guys?”

Noctis nods, and a moment later, a little grudgingly, so does Gladio. Ignis suspects they’re just trying to make him feel more welcome, but he appreciates the gesture.

-

Ignis isn’t used to feeling so visible. It’s evident that the others don’t feel able to speak freely in his presence, and it aches. The reminders that he’s newly an outsider are constant. He’s taken aback when, after he stocks up on supplies for the journey, Noctis asks whether they need to pay him back. Prompto asks permission to take a photograph of him.

He’s afraid, he’ll admit, that they’ll decide they don’t need him after all. He offers to drive at the first opportunity, to make it clear that he can be of some use.

(The chocobo had to be returned to Hammerhead’s rental point, of course. Ignis was a little sorry to see her go; for a time, she had seemed his only companion in the world. He did allow Prompto to fuss over her beforehand.)

The first night of camp, Ignis makes a garula sandwich he adapted from Takka’s recipe: one of Noctis’s favourites, and difficult to get wrong. He doesn’t want to risk making a mistake at such a crucial juncture, and he _certainly_ doesn’t want to make the error of serving vegetables when they’re only just beginning to reacquaint themselves.

Noctis takes one bite and looks sharply up at him. “I _remember_ this.”

The tightness in Ignis’s chest appears to have become a permanent fixture of late, but somehow it becomes even tighter. “I suppose it’s too much to hope you remember the chef?”

Noctis shakes his head. “Sorry. Just...” He looks down at the sandwich, then takes another bite. “This is really good. I guess we made the right decision.”

There’s probably no need for secrecy, but Ignis turns away to hide his smile.

-

Gladio claps a hand on Ignis’s shoulder when they’ve seen off a troop of MTs. “Not bad. I guess I can see why we kept you around.”

“You are way understating it,” Prompto says. “Did you see those _flips_? With the spear?”

The praise is gratifying, but Ignis can’t help noticing that Noctis remains quiet.

At last, when Prompto and Gladio are otherwise occupied (Prompto having talked Gladio into a photoshoot with a herd of garula), Noctis speaks. “You were sticking really close to me in that fight.”

Ignis hadn’t thought anything about that battle was particularly odd. He felt a little less coordinated with the others than usual, but he supposes that’s to be expected. “Was I in your way?”

Noctis shakes his head. “I don’t mean that. Just – I’d try to get away from the action to get a breather, and you’d be there, holding out your arms like you’re planning to take a bullet for me.”

“I’ve always tried to shield you in...” _Vulnerable moments_ , he knows from long experience, is the sort of phrase that will make Noctis bristle. “Well, when required. I’m sorry if it bothered you.”

“I’m not trying to complain. I just...” Noctis falls silent for a moment. “It’s weird. People putting their life on the line for me, just because I’m royalty.” He shakes his head. “And I’m barely even that, right? I mean, I don’t exactly have a kingdom any more.”

“Your birth cannot be taken from you,” Ignis says, quietly. “But your blood certainly isn’t the only reason I protect you.”

“Hey!” The voice pulls him out of... something, some strange space he’d unknowingly slipped into, and he looks up to see Prompto running towards them. “Hey, take a look at these shots!”

-

He’d been hoping his presence might jog some memories, but the days become weeks and he’s forced to admit that perhaps his past connections truly are lost.

The situation isn’t as hopeless as it once looked, at least. He doubts things will ever be entirely the same – there’s no replicating those years growing up together – but there’s a growing warmth in the way the others treat him. They no longer leave a conscious space around him when they bed down in the tent. Prompto is bold enough to mimic his accent once or twice; it’s a poor effort, but being gently made fun of does a great deal to help Ignis feel part of the group again. Yesterday, he and Noct pulled off a perfect twin spear strike, and for an instant Ignis could almost believe that nothing had changed.

Prompto and Gladio retreat inside the tent after the evening meal, but Noctis lingers, watching Ignis pack away the cooking equipment. He does not, Ignis notes, with more fondness than resentment, offer to help.

“You want to come fishing tomorrow morning?” Noctis asks at last.

Ignis looks up at him. “The morning? Surely you’ve misspoken.”

Noctis shifts. “I _can_ wake up early. I just don’t.”

“I’m sure. And why is tomorrow the exception?”

Noctis shrugs. Something about it makes Ignis wary; it’s almost too casual. “Prompto and Gladio don’t want to go. Figured I’d get it out of the way before they wake up. You coming?”

He wouldn’t turn it down in any case, and he _certainly_ doesn’t intend to turn it down if that would leave Noctis out in the wilderness on his own. “Of course.”

-

Noctis is quiet at first: absorbed in his fishing, Ignis supposes. For his part, Ignis is happy to remain by his side in silence. Perhaps their relationship will never be quite the same, but Ignis doesn’t mean to lose sight of how fortunate he is to still be in contact with Noctis, how much it means to him that Noctis invited him on this excursion.

“I’ve been wondering,” Noctis says at last, reeling in his line after an unsuccessful cast. “Before I forgot you. What were we...”

He falters. Ignis waits.

“What were we...?” Ignis asks eventually, gently prompting.

Noctis glances quickly at him, then looks away, across the lake. “What was our relationship, I guess.”

“I told you, I thought,” Ignis says. “I was charged with advising and protecting you. I hope I’ve adequately carried out the role.”

Noctis makes a frustrated noise. “Yeah, but – _really_.”

“Really?”

“It was more than that, right? Don’t just say you – you cooked or whatever.”

Ignis feels himself suddenly on a precipice. Noctis has dismissed his fishing rod, he’s looking directly at Ignis, and there’s a tension that somehow seems to dry out the damp air of Duscae.

“What’s brought this on?” Ignis asks, cautiously.

“ _You_ ,” Noctis says. “I mean, I’ve been getting the impression that you care about me _way_ past normal advisor level.”

He probably can’t deny that. “Well, I suppose our acquaintance probably goes back further than that of the average advisor and prince.”

“And, I mean, I still don’t remember you, but I just have this feeling you’re really important,” Noctis says. “You remember the first time you called?” (Not technically the first time, but now probably isn’t the moment to correct him.) “I couldn’t stop thinking about your voice, even when I didn’t know who you were. And then seeing you in the photos – and at Hammerhead—”

There’s a strange desperation in his voice. Ignis’s heart beats a little faster. “So you’re saying that feelings remain, even if the memories are gone.”

“I guess,” Noctis says. “I don’t think they’re _oh, that’s my advisor_ feelings. I think we were more than that.”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Ignis says. “We were friends. I hope we’re on the path to becoming friends again. We’ve never done anything... improper, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

It breaks through the tension and anxiety in the way Noctis is holding himself, and he laughs. “ _Improper?_ ”

“For a prince and his advisor, yes,” Ignis says.

“I thought you just said we were friends.”

“Well, yes,” Ignis concedes. “In addition.”

“You’re not my advisor now, right? Not since we forgot you.”

Ignis has to briefly run through what his senses are telling him – the early-morning sun on his skin (although the ‘early’ sun seems to be putting in its appearance later and later), the smell of damp greenery, the distant call of birds, the intent in Noctis’s eyes – to be sure this is real. He wishes he had some Ebony in his hands, something he could drink to delay the need to answer. He’s left his cleaning cloth in the tent, so he has to make do with cleaning his glasses on the shirt of his Crownsguard uniform, which suddenly feels strangely oppressive.

His eyesight is good enough to tell him that Noctis is watching him untuck his shirt with great interest. Perhaps this was a mistake.

“Your Highness,” he says. He has to pause to clear his throat.

“Call me Noct,” Noctis says.

Ignis restores his glasses to his face. He needs to extricate himself from this situation. He can’t think clearly; he won’t handle this correctly. “You don’t have your memories. You can’t... approach me like this without fully knowing what I am to you. It might cause any number of regrets.”

“We’re not related, right?”

He’s almost tempted to lie – it seems the quickest way to make Noctis abandon this line of thought – but claiming to be Regis’s bastard son seems it would only cause more complications in the long run. “We aren’t, no.”

“Okay,” Noctis says. “Well, like you said, I don’t have my memories. All I’ve got is what we are now. Things don’t have to be the same, right?”

“Noct,” Ignis says. “I think you misunderstand me. I’m – I’m flattered, certainly, but _I_ still have my memories. I don’t...” He needs to be clear in this situation. “I don’t think I can think of you romantically.”

There’s an agonising silence between them. Noctis looks mortified. Ignis feels absolutely wretched.

“Sorry,” Noctis mumbles at last. He crouches down, interesting himself with great determination in the box of fish at his feet. “I guess I misinterpreted.”

“That’s quite all right,” Ignis says. “I can see how my behaviour might seem, ah—”

“Can we not talk about this?” Noctis asks.

-

Ignis is a light sleeper at the best of times, always half-listening for danger. The Empire has yet to attack while they’re sleeping – somehow the havens seem to keep MTs away as effectively as they deter daemons – but he knows better than to assume it’s not a possibility.

That night he doesn’t sleep at all.

He tries to keep his mind an ordered place, on the whole, but he feels Noctis has kicked all his carefully boxed thoughts aside. Whatever Noctis might be feeling, or might believe himself to be feeling, it’s clear that he expected those feelings to be reciprocated. Ignis cares very deeply for Noctis, but does he give the impression...?

And there’s another question here. If Noctis is merely misinterpreting the echoes of his former memories, taking fondness and turning it into attraction, the situation is straightforward: he cannot be encouraged, because it will cause a great deal of discomfort if he ever regains his memory. But what if Noctis truly felt this way about Ignis before? What if Ignis never realised, spent all those years oblivious while Noctis suffered?

He can’t stop replaying their conversation in his mind, that devastating shift in Noctis’s expression when Ignis rejected him. And then there’s a part of him that keeps trying to tug him down different paths, keeps whispering different scenarios in his ear. _What if...?_

He’s never thought about this before. He has no excuse for thinking about it now. It’s... strange, discomfiting, and still in his mind Noctis opens up under his kiss, tugs at his clothes, inexperienced, desperate.

Ignis turns onto his side. Duscae feels as warm as Leide tonight, and the humidity isn’t helping.

-

Gladio pulls him roughly aside the next evening, when Noctis and Prompto are setting up the stove. “Need a word.”

For an instant, Ignis is struck by the absurd thought that perhaps all three of them are individually planning to proposition him in private. “What’s wrong?”

“What did you do to Noct?”

Ignis looks over at the haven in some alarm. Noctis doesn’t appear to have heard them at this distance, thankfully, but he lowers his voice nonetheless. “What do you mean?”

“You’re fighting way out of sync,” Gladio says. “He couldn’t get far enough away from you on the battlefield. If you’re distracting him in fights, you’re a danger to him. This isn’t gonna work out.”

Ignis had rather hoped nobody else had noticed. “I didn’t do anything to him, I assure you.”

Which perhaps is the problem.

“Look,” Gladio says, “I get that this sucks for you, but he doesn’t remember you. If you’re pushing him into something he’s not comfortable with—”

“What are you implying?”

“I mean, you were boyfriends, right?”

Ignis stares at him. Is this really how his behaviour towards Noctis reads, without the context of their memories together? He supposes it must be, if both Noctis and Gladio have formed the same misconception.

“No,” he says at last. He can’t find any words to follow it.

“Oh.” Gladio’s brow furrows. “Sorry. Guess it’s not that, then. Anyway, whatever’s going on between you, you need to figure it out.”

-

“Noctis,” Ignis says, quietly. “May I speak to you after supper? Alone?”

Noctis, with evident reluctance, agrees.

Supper is a tense affair. Eventually, when the utensils have been cleared away and Prompto and Gladio have retired, it’s just the two of them left. Noctis is pacing. Ignis focuses on the glowing patterns on the rock, as a distraction from the sense that someone is wringing out his stomach.

At last, Noctis stops pacing. “So what did you want to talk about?”

One half of his face is illuminated by blue light. It’s striking, eerie. Ignis isn’t sure he can have this conversation. He barely knows what this conversation is going to be.

“Gladio’s concerned that I’m a distraction to you,” he says.

Noctis’s eyes widen. “You _told Gladio?_ ”

“No, of course not,” Ignis hastens to reassure him. “He noticed we were... well, I suppose we’ve been avoiding each other, as far as two people can in such close quarters.”

Noctis shuffles his feet. Glances away, at the blue light of the haven twisting up into the sky. “It’s not his business.”

“He thought I might need to leave the group, if we don’t iron out... whatever happens to be going on between us.”

“I overrule Gladio,” Noctis says at once. “He can’t kick you out.”

Ignis smiles slightly. “You shouldn’t dismiss Gladio’s opinion so easily. But I’m certainly grateful.”

“We’re done here, right?” Noctis asks. “I tell Gladio you’re staying. We don’t have to... _iron out_ anything.”

“Don’t you think we should?”

Noctis shrugs helplessly. “What else is there? You’re not interested. I guess I’ll get over it eventually.”

Ignis almost says something, but catches his tongue. He can’t speak rashly here. To risk their relationship, risk throwing away all those years of companionship and closeness, on account of a night and a day of confused, tormented thoughts...

But those years have already been thrown away, haven’t they?

He’s hesitated too long, and a shrewdness he doesn’t like has crept into Noctis’s gaze. It’s the same look he gets when he senses weakness in Ignis’s insistence that they don’t have time for fishing. He should be flattered that Noctis apparently holds him on the same level as a fishing excursion, he supposes.

“You’re not interested,” Noctis says, again. “Right?”

“Noct,” Ignis says, the words almost burning his throat, “you must understand that I still think of myself as your retainer. I couldn’t dream of initiating anything...”

“Improper?” Noctis finishes for him.

Ignis nods wordlessly.

Noctis looks him over. There’s something very sharp in his gaze, and somehow it’s only heightened by the darkness around them. “So what if I initiate something?”

Ignis swallows.

“As your advisor,” he says, “I can only tell you I think it would be unwise.”

“ _Former_ advisor,” Noctis says.

Ignis shrugs. “In which case I have no authority at all.”

Noctis moves a little closer (Ignis, truth be told, is embarrassed by how strong a reaction that alone can elicit in him), but there’s still hesitation there. “I thought you couldn’t think of me that way.”

There’s still space to retreat.

“As you said,” Ignis says, “our circumstances have changed.”

-

There are certain barriers Ignis isn’t yet prepared to let drop. This is a situation he never expected to find himself in, a shift in their relationship that’s left him desperately trying to refind his footing, and he needs time to adjust. So he stays Noctis’s hands when they wander to his belt, but he makes it as clear as he can without words that he’s saying _not yet_ rather than _no_.

Noctis has Ignis pinned to the haven floor, he’s got Ignis’s shirt open and is kissing down the line of his neck, clumsy but intent, and Ignis is drawing breath through his open mouth and telling himself that this is reality—

—and there’s a low chuckle out in the darkness.

Ignis looks sharply to the side. He’s not sure whether Noctis heard the noise, in his distraction, but he certainly notices Ignis’s reaction to it.

Noctis sits back on his heels, still straddling Ignis. “What’s wrong?” he asks, a little raggedly.

“I’m not sure.” A pause. “Perhaps I imagined it. It sounded to me like Chancellor Izunia.”

“Wait, seriously?” Noctis asks.

And then his eyes widen and he jerks to his feet, away from Ignis, almost stumbling in his haste.

“Noct?” Ignis asks, alarmed.

“ _Ignis_ ,” Noctis says, and the terror hits Ignis full-force. He’d thought at first that they were under attack, but it’s worse than that. From the sound of the name alone, bewildered, horrified, with over a decade’s weight behind it, he knows that Noctis has remembered.

All this time he’s been hoping that Noctis might remember him at some point, that they might be able to return to the relationship they had before. Without fully thinking through the consequences, he’s crossed a line that has made that impossible.

Noctis is staring at him. “Ignis, what...?”

“Do you remember what happened?” Ignis asks, sitting up to rebutton his shirt as hastily as he’s able. This is the crucial question: if Noctis doesn’t remember their time rebuilding, if he just woke from a dream to find himself in that situation – well, Ignis will never be able to forgive himself.

Noctis runs his hands through his dishevelled hair, leaving it even more so. “I – I mean, yeah. _Shit_.”

What can he say? _I never meant to take advantage of you?_ Abruptly, it seems obvious that he _did_ mean to do that. He must have known that they weren’t Noctis’s true feelings; he was being wilfully blind to the situation—

“Ignis,” Noctis says, his voice almost breaking, “I’m sorry.”

Ignis takes a moment to run through that again in his mind. “ _You’re_ sorry?”

“I forced you into this,” Noctis says. “I knew you wouldn’t say no, it’s why I never – there’s a reason I never asked before, I’m sorry, I _forgot_.”

“You knew I wouldn’t say no?” Ignis echoes. He can’t make sense of this situation; there’s too much in his head.

Noctis shrugs, helplessly, desperately. “I knew you’d do anything to make me happy.”

“Noct, it’s okay.”

Noctis makes a frustrated noise through his teeth. “I can’t believe I was so _stupid_.”

“ _Noct!_ ” It’s sharp enough to cut through whatever argument Noctis is currently having with himself, and Noctis meets his eyes, ashamed and guilty. “It’s okay. I—”

He can’t say this. If Noctis has his memory back, that presumably makes Ignis his advisor again; it’s staggeringly improper. But he has to say it, because Noctis is in turmoil, and needlessly so.

“I wanted it,” Ignis says at last. “I wanted you.”

Noctis’s emotions are so clear and vulnerable on his face, even in the half-darkness: afraid, uncertain, aching to believe him.

Faintly, Ignis thinks he might hear the chancellor laughing again.

-

Ignis sleeps very little that night, but he’s woken by Prompto launching himself on top of him. “Iggy!”

In spite of everything, Ignis finds himself laughing, just a little. “Should I take it you’ve remembered me?”

“Holy crap, how did we forget? I mean, you’re _Ignis_.”

“Can’t believe I was talking about throwing you out,” Gladio says. “I owe you one hell of an apology.”

“Forgiven and forgotten,” Ignis says, his eyes seeking out Noctis.

Noctis is sitting quietly in the corner: awake, which is unusual for this time of the morning. Ignis feels a strange jolt run through him when their eyes meet; he wonders whether Noctis feels the same.

There’s no going back, he supposes. Their connection is in a strange state, frayed and tangled. He can tell Noctis is still afraid he might have pushed Ignis into something against his will.

All Ignis can do is try to rebuild their relationship, for the second time in as many months.

It won’t be the same. But a part of him is looking forward to seeing what it might look like, in the end.


End file.
